George Herbert(1593–1633)
The Temper (I)
How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,
I f w h a t m y s o u l d o t h f e e l s o m e t i m e s ,
My s o u l m i g h t ever feel!always
Although there were some forty heavens, or more,
Sometimes I peer above them all;
S o m e t i m e s I hardly r e a c h a score;
S o m e t i m e s to hell I fall.
O rack me n o t to s u c h a vast extent;
T h o s e d i s t a n c e s b e l o n g to t h e e :
T h e world's t o o little for thy tent,
A grave t o o b i g for m e .
Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch
A crumb of dust from heaven to hell
W i l l great G o d m e a s u r e w i t h a w r e t c h ?
Shall he thy stature spell
O let m e , w h e n thy roof my s o u l h a t h hid,
O let me roost a n d n e s t l e there;
T h e n of a s i n n e r t h o u art rid,
A n d I of h o p e a n d fear.
Yet take thy way; for, sure, thy w a y is best:
S t r e t c h o r c o n t r a c t m e , thy p o o r debtor:
T h i s is b u t t u n i n g of my breast,
T o m a k e t h e m u s i c better.
W h e t h e r I fly w i t h a n g e l s , fall w i t h d u s t ,
T h y h a n d s m a d e b o t h , a n d I a m there.
T h y p o w e r a n d love, m y love a n d trust,
M a k e o n e p l a c e e v e r y w h e r e .